


Butterfly Clips

by Im_Feeling_Blue



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alcoholism, And Greta is a dude sorry it comes up later if things go as planned, F/F, First Love, HAROLD THEY’RE LESBIANS, I’ll put warnings in the beginning of chapters, Lesbians, Like, Love that shit, OCs because Richie has siblings!, Oh, Richie is actually Bi just so you know (here at least), Sonia is a dude! So it’s daddy issues now, There will be cheesiness!, WE’RE DOING IT LIVE BOYS, and Eddie is soft sometimes like in the book!, child abuse and other stuff, genderbent, genderbent Reddie!, no pennywise, not mommy issues, sometimes things will be sad and angsty and maybe uncomfortable, they are headed into ninth grade at the beginning, what a bitch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:27:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21629089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Im_Feeling_Blue/pseuds/Im_Feeling_Blue
Summary: Eddie finds that the older she gets, the less things make sense. She thinks it‘s stupid when people say youth is beautiful: as far as she can tell, everyone is a fucking mess of hormones and confusion, ready to fall apart over anything. And from what she and her friends have seen, it doesn’t get better when you’re old and wrinkled, either.So what the fuck is up with that?
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	Butterfly Clips

**Author's Note:**

> Lesbian Reddie! Figured out that I love that shit, wanted more, and thought “hey, I’ll just do it myself, duh.” 
> 
> I never really had an interest in It until my cousin begged me to watch it this year. I loved the first one, watched the second one in the movie theatre and cried, and turned to fanfics. 
> 
> I just wanted to say that, like it says in the tags, sometimes this fic might get uncomfortable because of abusive parents and sad thoughts and stuff, which I will warn about before every chapter that it shows up in! First chapter is safe, just cheesy shit as an intro. 
> 
> I will never go explicit! While I’m almost 18, I have zero idea how to write that and won’t even bother for a long time, if ever. I don’t know where the rating will go other than that, so yeah. Okay that’s all I think. I hope you guys stick around until the end!

Richie has always been taller than Eddie. It’s shitty, but true nonetheless. She’s like a tree, her long legs the trunk, willowy arms the branches, and her frizzy, wild curls the leaves that fly all over the place in the wind. Stan once said Richies hair was like the clumps of fuzz left behind on a brush after years of use-who the _fuck_ would let their brush grow so disgusting- so Richie just shoved him into the lake in the quarry, and that was that.

But yeah. Richie has always been taller than Eddie. And god if it isn’t aggravating because Eddie is just so goddamn _short_ . She doesn’t even know why. Her dad, as she’s observed (see: obsessively compared to every adult male she came across during their outings together, rare as they are), is average height. Her mother is unknown, with no pictures in their house to let Eddie know her face, much less her height. Her dad may as well have made her himself through asexual reproduction. So why is she left at shitty 5’0 exactly? Beverly is 5’3 and stupid stupid _stupid_ Richie is 5’9, as if someone forgot to tell her DNA the average height for women and decided to give the clumsy bitch the height of a basketball player. There’s no reason for God to be that unfair.

“Why is it so important though?” Beverly is pushing back her cuticles and chewing gum while lying on a beanbag chair, glittery teal nail polish set aside. She’s a picturesque embodiment of teen idleness, an antithesis to the wound up nature of one Eddie Kaspbrak. “Like, she uses you as an armrest, sure, but she does that to me and Ben too, and we don’t really see the big deal with-“

“Nooooo!” Eddie moans and groans and acts like an all-around brat, and Beverly just laughs, the menace. Eddie doesn’t know why she bothers, except she does because, because... “ugh, Bev, it, it’s one of _those_ things. You know what I mean. It’s, well, I, it,” her words tangle up in her mouth, so she just trails off as her face reddens. It’s a new experience to be vocalizing thoughts she’s been having for years now, and it makes her feel vulnerable in a good way, unlike how it usually feels. It’s still embarrassing though, so she hurtles herself onto the hammock and cuddles into some ratty blanket left on it, curling away from Bev’s knowing, smiling eyes.

“Oh, so you just like it too much, huh? Little Edith Kaspbrak gets _tit-il-ated_ at the height difference between herself and her hot, tall, incredibly fashionably challenged glass of water with a, and I quote, ‘pillowy soft che-“

“NO, STOP, why do I TELL YOU ANYTHING _MISS_ _BEVERLY_ _MARSH_? You are being an ASSHOLE. It just, it’s just,” and she breathes in deeply because this is just mortifying, and she knows she’s overreacting but she can’t stop thinking about it, “it makes my fantasies awkward! Like, if we were to kiss she would have to lean down so low that her back would cramp, OR HER NECK! Me going on my _tippy-toes_ won’t do SHIT, I’m at boob level! I can’t keep the image in my head knowing she needs contortionist levels of flexibility, where she looks like a palm tree with its leaves like drooping and stop _laughingbeverlystopitrightnow_!” But Beverly can’t stop, not really, because the point of a fantasy is to make up scenarios outside of reality, as perfect as you want them, but of course out of everyone Edith wouldn’t be able to do that, no sir, because she needs facts even in a daydream. 

“I swear to Jesus and God and the Holy Spirit Bev I’m going to, to, to do _something_ if you don’t stop! Bad posture can lead to joint degeneration in the spine and that causes severe pain so it’s a serious concern! It can lead to bad digestion! Poor circulation!” Her voice raises an octave every five words until it cracks. So, traitor to herself, she starts laughing too. And that’s how Mike finds them them as he enters the clubhouse for their weekly Saturday get-together, and he lets Beverly paint his nails a baby pink; that’s how Stan finds them, and he gets his nails painted a sky blue. Eventually they’re all crammed into that small safe haven, and tall Rachel “Richie” Tozier is climbing into the hammock and Eddie, for all her yelling, lets her. And if she shivers when Richie rests her hand on her leg, just holding it really, that’s no ones business but hers.

—————

The Losers Club is made up of 7 people: 4 boys, 3 girls. Bill, Richie, Stan, and Eddie are the founding members, with the latter joining the group in 3rd grade after being pushed and teased by Henry Bowers for being “sicker than his grandma”. He wasn’t very creative with insults back then, but the whole tearing-out-butterfly-clips-from-her-hair-and-stomping-on-them did the trick. A classic move. Stan found her, crying behind the rock wall in the playground with her clips smashed on the wood chips. He yelled for Bill and Richie, a brave action for someone as quiet and timid as him. They helped her up, sat with her at lunch afterwards, and the rest is history.

Ben, Beverly, and Mike entered their group in seventh grade. Ben joined after they saved him from being branded by Bowers the Bastard, Beverly joined after helping them steal supplies to save Ben, and Mike joined after they saved _him_ from Bowers the Bastard with a rock war. That’s the group dynamic, saving each other when in trouble, and picking each other up in the aftermath of any struggle they can’t be there for. It’s warm, the heady feeling of comfort and love that wraps around her when she thinks of her friends. They’re stupid and loud, but they’re each other’s sanctuary in Derry.

Eddie would die for them. Not that she thinks a situation would ever occur for that to happen, but it’s a fact, one that burrows below her ribs and settles there as a reminder of the devotion they have for each other. It’s that devotion that comforts her every night as she lies in bed with her door that locks from the outside and her ever attentive ears searching for a shuffle or a creak. _With them_ , she knows, _there’s always a tomorrow._

—————

“Oh my god, Richie, keep your eyes in front oh my god Richie please IF YOU WRECK MY BIKE I’LL KILL YOU BEFORE MY DAD EVEN GETS A CHANCE!”

The Losers wanted snacks, as teens tend to do when in groups, and everyone immediately turned to Eddie and Richie to get some. Eddie, because her bike was the only one with a cute basket in the front, and Richie, because they’re a package-deal and she would have volunteered herself anyway. “We’re _best_ best friends,” she yelled once, “like Ernie and little Bert over here.”

After some routine grumbling and heckling, meticulous order-taking, and double-checking everyone’s choices, the duo left the clubhouse for what should have been an easy errand. But, in a moment of weakness caused by romantic whimsy, Eddie agreed that _yes, it would be a cool and efficient idea, Richie, to just ride one bike together to the store, and of course it would be ideal for you to be the one cycling because longer legs totally means faster rotations. Guess that means I’ll have to hold onto you, hahaha, oh well!_

Fucking dumbass.

“Eddie, dude, don’t sweat i-WOAH, ha, that was a rough bump, eh? Hey, wanna do something co-AHHH, haHA, something cool?” Richie grins and hunches her back some more over the handlebars as her twig legs pedal faster, her oversized Hawaiian shirt billowing in the wind right into Eddies face.

“I almost fell and cracked my head open and you’re calling it a rough BUMP? I’m not tall enough to hold onto your shoulders! You’re a beanstalk and I have no stability here on this ride, I want OFF, RICHIE, WE’RE GONNA CRASH, THE STORE IS THERE THE PARKING STOP IS GOING TO VAULT US OVER YOU ASS-“ and it does, just as expected, and because Eddie isn’t entirely stupid she curls up and ends up rolling in the soft grass in front of the parking lot, thank god. This is also expected; Richie has done this before like three times because she’s also not stupid. She followed the scientific method, repeating her experiment and getting the same results. So it's a basic fact that they would survive that. She says this, and cackles like a witch with her head thrown back and her curls bouncing as Eddie shifts into gremlin mode, snarling and clawing at any body part she can reach.

“If you’re a masochist then fine, do that shit in your own time when you don’t have PRECIOUS CARGO WITH YOU! I had NOTHING to give me BALANCE except your BONY HIP and the SEAT” she screeches as her fingers clutch the collar of Richies shirt, giving a few tugs in an attempt to pull the curly-haired girl forward. “Now thanks to my desperate hand clenching on the seat due to your SHITTY THRILL SEEKING, it’s ramped into this CLAW SHAPE,” and here she raises her left hand as proof, her tight grip having caused muscle spasms that created a rather pathetic pirates claw, “and my skirt is going to have LONG GRASS STAINS ON IT.“ Eddie gives a few more tugs for good measure, but Richie just giggles and snorts, unrepentantly adorable much to Eddie's chagrin. 

“Hey, Eds, sweetie, light of my life, strawberry to my shortcake,” Richie smiles some more as Eddie narrows her eyes, “I would never, ever endanger your life if I didn’t already know it would work out. What would I do if you died? You’re the only bitch that can handle me in this town, other than Bev and Stan, but that’s not the same, ya know? It’s not Bev who’s room I sneak into at night for impromptu sleepovers. It’s not Stan who's back up medication I carry around with me just in case. I think of you like you think of me, best pals for _life_. You’re my little spaghetti, Eds.” There’s a pause, and all the while Eddie is gripping her shirt, wide brown eyes staring at Richie's face.

It’s not like Richie said anything poetic or particularly poignant, but Eddie just... forgets to be angry, forgets what even happened, and just keeps staring with her mouth hanging slightly open. It's not even entirely because it’s Richie she’s dealing with. Every Loser knows if they say anything remotely sentimental to Eddie, she softens. But she can’t deny that when Richie does it, her heart feels more tender; when Richie does it, she becomes malleable and a little dreamy. That’s dangerous, so she remembers to be furious, because that’s safe. She flushes and gives a guttural, close-mouthed scream.

“Don’t call me that” she finally snaps, and it’s all she can think to say as she’s suddenly too tired to think. It’s a nice sort of tired though, so she just huffs and moves away as she smooths out her hair.

“Call you what, exactly?” Richie grins her insufferable grin, and Eddie hates how bubblegum pink the lips of her huge mouth are.

“Any of it, and you know that, dumbass, because I only say it _everyday_.” Her brows furrow as she comes across something jagged in her hair. She picks it out to examine it and frowns: it’s a piece of shiny pink plastic. Richie has the decency to look slightly ashamed at this; she knows Eddie loves her glittery flower clips.

  
  


“I’ll buy you new ones, I swear it.”

Eddie rolls her eyes. “It’s fine.” She shuffles, smoothing out her skirt, brushing off her shoulders, rubbing the ruffles of her eyelet socks between her fingers. Then: “Are you hurt? The grass is soft, but I know you probably put your arms out to break your fall... I have some stuff you can use, like Tylenol, if you have any pain, and bandaids, if you have any scratches.” She gestures at her fanny pack for good measure, an iridescent beauty, thank you very much.

She wants to say Richie blushes at this, that Richie gets flustered by her admittedly shittily executed display of tenderness like Eddie does with her, but she remains disappointedly composed. “Nope!” Her mouth pops at the p and she stretches out on the grass, lifting one long leg up to whack Eddie's head. She earns a growl for her efforts. “This ain’t my first rodeo, kiddo. Unlike you, good madam, with your skin as delicate as a peach, I have like 50 layers of skin. I’m tough as shit.” In one breath she fits in three of her voices: Cowboy Carl, British Bertram, and Biker Bob, each as shitty as they sound. Richie sighs and smiles up at the sky. “Let’s just relax here a bit, I’m tired from cycling. You’re heavier than you look, Eddie spaghetti.”

Eddie moves her hands from her fanny pack and crosses her arms over her stomach. “Heavier than- you didn’t even carry me! The bike made it easier to transport me anywhere!” Eddie huffs again, glaring down at the Trashmouth. “At least I’m not as thin as a stick. I have womanly curves.” She doesn’t really think that, but who’s going to know? Bev, probably.

  
  
  


“Yeah, all very squishy and cute, cute, _cute_!” Richie springs up quickly into a seating position, a miracle for someone who claims to be incapable of doing sit-ups and push-ups during gym class, just to smush around Eddies cheeks. Eddie sort of wants her to do it forever, if just to keep the skin-on-skin contact, but it also hurts if it goes on too long so fuck that. Eddie grabs at her wrists and pulls them away from her face.

“Well if you’re not hurt and you’re done being a jerk, let’s get the stupid snacks. Do you still have the list?”

“Yeah, yeah, _sí señorita_. But they know it takes us forever to do shit, so we might as well chill. Come, bring your squish-squish here and relax with me. Might make you act less like you have a stick up your ass.” Before Eddie can even react, Richie falls back and tugs her down, Eddie’s fingers still wrapped around her arms.

Theoretically, Eddie could just let go, but she doesn’t because she knows what she’s about even if she won’t 100% admit it. Give her a break, okay? She’s like 70% there.

Still, she has to put up _some_ resistance. She sits back up, still holding those arms. “Are you seriously going to take a nap in front of the parking lot? What if some creeps find us? Or the shop owners yell at us? Not to mention how disgusting this is! There’s probably bugs all over the grass ready to crawl on us, what if they lay their eggs in our hair, or stay on our clothes? It rained two days ago Richie, there’s probably-“ Then Richie rises back up, just as quickly as before. _We’re going to get a good core workout at this rate,_ Eddie thinks.

Richie removes her wrists from Eddie’s grip, a tragedy, really, and takes off her huge Hawaiian shirt just to lay it down next to her, patting it emphatically. “Here ya go, ma’am, safety from the dry, dry ground for the lady, so no danger of bugs finding a home on your lovely body. And nobody ever comes here anyway. Everyone always sticks to the shops near the center of this shit town, like lazy fucks. I come here all the time, being the not a lazy fuck I am. Also it’s way cheaper but no one else cares apparently.” Her face contorts into an exaggerated frown, her expression so ugly and stupid: she looks like a painting of a depressed clown, out of work and out of chuckles. Eddie can’t help but give snort, drawing an immediate smile from Richie. It’s like a Pavlovian effect. “So,” she continues, “stop giving excuses and lay down with me.”

Eddie finds this line of reasoning stupid and says so, but lies down anyway in a very slow, suspicious motion, while Richie flops down with an “oof.” Eddie knows the image of Richie in her thin undershirt will come back in her mind at the end of the day, but for now she closes her eyes and gives a small smile.

She loves all of the Losers; she would die for them.

But she lives for these moments with Richie.

She blames Richie when the store owner wakes them up some 30 minutes later telling them to “buy something or scram,” but her rage isn’t very convincing when she giggles every ten seconds as they finally get the shit they were supposed to get. This time though, Eddie is the one who cycles when they head back. She’d rather get the sodas to the clubhouse safely, much to Richie’s disappointment.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I write this stuff on my phone because I don’t have a personal computer, and if I tried making a word doc for this and my parents find it they’d probably yell at me then die, tbh. Life is crazy. The point is that sometimes my phone autocorrects me and I try to catch it but it doesn’t always work! Please let me know if I need to fix something!
> 
> PLEASE COMMENT ANYWAY EVEN IF YOU DON’T FIND ANYTHING TO FIX! It’s nice to know people read my stuff, even if all you say is “hi!” 
> 
> Also, I haven’t decided if I want this to take place in the 80s/90s to sort of follow canon (and songs like Bette Davis Eyes by Kim Carnes and Dreams by The Cranberries are on my playlist for this fic) or like the 2000s/2010s because those are more familiar to me and I feel like Eddie would listen to Taylor Swift songs (also on my playlist). Sorry! I’ll figure it out soon.
> 
> Also I love butterfly clips, that’s all. No other reason for the title.


End file.
